There’s a specific kind of noise only possible when Squad 7 enters a cssroom together.

  It's not just loud—it’s destructive. Chairs fall. Windows rattle. At least one wall cracks mysteriously. And no, it’s not due to a spell. It’s due to Rielle and Eli arguing over who gets the window seat (again), Gram pouring something very much illegal into his fsk (again), and me, Lucien Wyrhart, mentally begging the gods to strike me down before I’m nominated for another leadership position I didn’t ask for.

  We had just returned from our post-elven-war vacation that we mostly spent not recovering at all, but eating through my pantry like starving dragons in heat. Now that we were officially Third Years, the academy had decided to cram us all into one of the “Advanced Combat and Strategy” csses. Transtion: let’s shove all the dangerous kids together and hope no one dies.

  Spoiler alert: that hope was already wearing thin.

  Instructor Helsha walked in, looked at us with the tiredness of someone who’s aged 10 years in the span of two, and immediately shouted, “If one more chair is set on fire by accident, I will personally duct tape your spell fingers together and hang you upside-down in the gravity chamber!”

  You’d think we’d stop, but no. Rielle had already sneezed mid-sharpening her sword, and the desk next to her was now melted. Gram whispered, “Oops,” and sipped whatever green concoction he was brewing for “mental focus.” I just sat there, sipping tea and pretending I wasn’t internally screaming.

  And then, just as chaos threatened to break into full-blown war, the announcement bell rang. You know, the loud GONG that sounds like someone just spped a gong with a dragonbone hammer? Yeah, that one.

  “ALL STUDENTS TO THE GRAND SUMMONING ARENA.”

  The voice of Headmaster Davian rang through the halls like a grumpy god, which, let’s be honest, he kind of is. We collectively groaned—except Eli, who was already halfway down the corridor, dragging us behind her with her excitement.

  “It's Princess Celestia’s summoning today!” she squealed.

  Ah yes, Princess Celestia of Sarnhild. Our new princess. Younger than all of us, serious as a sword at your throat, and composed like she was carved from gcier ice and royal blood. She was beautiful in that distant, noble way. The opposite of Princess Sylvaria, who was chaos, cruelty, brilliance, and a flirt all rolled into one burning bundle of noble madness.

  When we arrived, the Grand Arena was packed. Nobles in ridiculous robes. Students looking semi-decent for once. Even Sylvaria was in the stands, now dressed in her graduation regalia, looking every bit like a walking banner of "Look at me, I survived this madness."

  “I still can’t believe she made it out,” Rielle whispered.

  “She’s probably the one who made it madness to begin with,” I whispered back.

  Sylvaria noticed us, of course, and gave us that zy, amused smirk that said “I’m still watching you, idiots.”

  Then Celestia stepped forward into the summoning circle.

  The girl didn’t blink. She didn’t twitch. She didn’t show a single ounce of fear.

  Where Sylvaria summoned chaos, Celestia summoned control.

  With a calm voice that somehow silenced the entire arena, she chanted the incantation. Runes glowed around her. Wind coiled like a serpent, and power surged up from the depths of the academy's magical veins.

  Then—POOF—in a pilr of azure light and gentle frost… appeared a stunningly majestic silver fox, its nine tails swaying with divine elegance.

  People cpped.

  Some gasped.

  Eli whispered, “Why does she get the pretty ones while Ember looks like a snake with ego problems?”

  Ember hissed behind me like she heard that.

  As Celestia gently knelt beside her fox—now named Yuki, because of course it had to have an elegant name—I felt a weird chill. That girl… was different. Not just noble. Not just royal. She had this weird presence like she was already five steps ahead of the game.

  And that’s when the second announcement hit.

  “ATTENTION: Today we also celebrate the graduation of the senior css. Including our Princess Sylvaria Wellstion and her student council, who have—against all odds—survived their tenure at this fine institution.”

  I swear I saw Sylvaria roll her eyes.

  Then came the kicker.

  “And in light of this event,” continued the announcer, “Her Highness Sylvaria has nominated one Lucien Wyrhart as candidate for the next Student Council President.”

  Cue silence.

  Cue thousands of heads turning toward me like I’d just been outed as the prince of hell.

  Cue Rielle choking on her spit, Gram’s fsk shattering as he dropped it, and Eli muttering “We are all so dead.”

  I stood up. I looked at Sylvaria. I mouthed: You’re dead to me.

  She winked. That witch winked.

  And then, just as the crowd began to buzz like a hive of locusts, Celestia stood.

  “I accept his nomination as a contender,” she said in her calm, perfectly poised voice, “I too have long considered someone of Lucien Wyrhart’s caliber… worthy.”

  “Worthy of what? The gallows?” I muttered under my breath.

  And now, dear reader, let me crify what had just happened: I had just been publicly dragged into a political war between two princesses for the right to sit in a stupid oversized chair, attend boring meetings, and be bmed when someone like Gram accidentally creates a sentient exploding mushroom again.

  Everyone appuded. I sulked. Ember wrapped tighter around my neck as if to choke me in solidarity.

  So here we are.

  Third year. New princess. Summoning ceremony. Graduation of Sylvaria. And me? Lucien Wyrhart?

  Nominated as Student Council President.

  Why?

  Because apparently the gods think it’s hirious.